


night skies

by downthedarkpath, rosegoldblood



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminals, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Collaboration, M/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension, but he acts more like a cop here really, well george is a detective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:47:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29154534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/downthedarkpath/pseuds/downthedarkpath, https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosegoldblood/pseuds/rosegoldblood
Summary: after a string of thefts across the city, george finally finds his culprit: a thief named dream. as george devotes his time to catching dream and they grow closer through rooftop chases, he starts to wonder whether he really does want to catch dream.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 25
Kudos: 137





	night skies

**Author's Note:**

> it was a pleasure collaborating with elle (@ERR0RGEO on twitter) and i hope you enjoy this fic! [carrd](https://rosegoldblood.carrd.co). - mel

George slams his boots against the pavement, and as soon as he hits the ground, he starts running - past the brick walls of the numerous buildings surrounding him, panting as he chases after Dream. He kicks up loose stones, skidding along the asphalt and around corners, while Dream always stays one step ahead.

His breath starts to stutter the longer he runs, eyes widening when Dream skids to a stop and swings himself onto a metal ladder, hands deftly gripping each rung as he hoists himself up with ease. George is tired, drained of energy, but he follows anyway, though his movement’s decidedly less fluid.

The ladder creaks under their combined weight, flecks of rust pulling off in his palms. George pulls himself up another rung, decidedly less graceful than Dream. The set back costs him seconds - valuable ones. Dream is already nearly at the roof, and the gap between them widens every time George blinks.

“What’s wrong, Georgie?” Dream teases, leaning back on the ladder. He’s slightly out of breath, but other than that, he seems fine. What a little shit, George thinks. “Getting tired?”

“You wish,” he spits. Dream’s right, though… They’ve spent the past twenty minutes sprinting through the backstreets of the city, and George has never liked obstacle courses. 

As if he knows George is lying, Dream laughs and turns around, starting to run backward. How the fuck. “You can always stop, you know,” he laughs again, “don’t have to catch me… or is it that you enjoy spending time with me, even if it’s like this? I’m honoured!”

George throws himself at the last rung, trying to ignore the wheeze in his chest. “You have literally never been more wrong.”

Dream grins, so full of confidence and assuredness. It makes George feel sick. “Really? I’ve never felt more right.”

His palms hit the flat of the concrete, rough against his skin, and George takes a deep breath. “Shut up. That won’t work on me,” he says through gritted teeth, ignoring the fluttering in his heart.

When Dream laughs again, he steps back, foot wobbling against the edge of the building. His eyes widen, as he realises that there’s no space left to go - and George’s eyes widen, too, rushing forward as Dream begins to fall.

He doesn’t realise what he’s doing until he does it, reaching to grab the hand Dream stretches out and pulling him back onto firmer ground. George is almost relieved to note that Dream’s palms seem just as sweaty as his are.

“Oh,” Dream murmurs, lips moving just slightly as he analysed their… predicament. George’s hand, wrapped around Dream’s, his fingers against Dream’s gloved wrist. “Ahahah… this is awkward.”

“Awkward?” George repeats. He flexes his fist, wondering who will be the first to pull away, “you’re telling me.”

There’s silence. Below, a car revs its engine. “So what do we do?” Dream says.

“I’m supposed to handcuff you and bring you in,” George says. He has his radio strapped to his belt, but to use it would mean taking his hand out of Dream’s. He’s not sure he wants to do that yet. He’s not sure why he doesn’t want to do that yet.

“Supposed to?”

He can’t meet Dream’s eye.

“Oh,” Dream whispers, then he raises his voice, something twinkling in his eye, “oh… I see what’s going on here. You like me, don’t you? You want to set me free so we can continue our little play dates!”

His hand almost shoots up to pat his cheek condescendingly, but at the last moment Dream realises that in his position, perhaps he shouldn’t. “Who knew you were such a big softie all along.”

George grimaces, “you think I like playing cat and mouse with you? Please.”

“Maybe try being more convincing next time,” Dream suggests. He looks at George, eyes burning a hole through him, like he knows exactly what George is thinking. Maybe he does - at this point, George wouldn’t put it past him.

Making up his mind, George pulls Dream toward him, off the ledge - and he realises his mistake too late. When Dream’s boots flatten against the ground, he punches George in the stomach, making him groan and fall back.

He’s out of his depth here, he knows - but he tries and fails to swing a punch at Dream. He has a weapon - a weapon that would end everything here, if he just took it. George wonders why he doesn’t, but he thinks he knows the answer.

You like me, don’t you?

Dream’s smile is gloating. One more hit and George is down for the count, glaring up at him. “You know, you’re pretty obvious. You should work on that.”

“Obvious about what?” he manages to spit out, wincing around the ache in his abdomen.

“You have a gun,” Dream says, gesturing at it with the toe of his boot. His tone turns almost sour, wavering on the edge of condescending, “and you haven’t used it. Come on.”

“It’s just… a hassle,” George growls, and he knows it’s a pathetic lie, but his midsection is burning and there are cuts on his fingers and he’s too tired to care.

“More of a hassle than me?” Dream asks, innocently. 

He doesn’t have the energy nor the wherewithal to answer it. George doesn’t even think he knows the answer himself. Dream grins, kicking at George’s cheek with the steel toe of his boot - softly, playfully - before he runs off into the night.

Off into the night, slipping through George’s fingers. He groaned and punched his fist into the concrete, ignoring the pain.

_ Damn it. _

✦

Dream finds himself loitering around the police station the next morning.

It’s early - early enough that he just might look suspicious, if someone were to look at him wrong. He’s changed after last night, swapping dark layers for a cream sweatshirt and jeans. Inconspicuous, and hopefully, undetectable. He’s about ninety percent sure that the one person who might recognise him won’t do anything about it.

It’s a reassuring phenomenon. Dream is free to wander the streets, ignoring the few civilians who are around. 

It’s been a while since he’s been out this early. Usually, darkness is safer for him. And more comfortable; the sun is bright and warm, and Dream doesn’t particularly enjoy it. 

There’s a couple of stores along the same street as the station. Dream walks past all of them, watching himself in the reflection of the windows. There’s a name brand coffee shop, one he doesn’t recognise nor have much interest in recognising in the future, as well as a jewellery store, an independent bookstore, and a drugstore…

A jewellery store.

Dream backtracks along the street, pausing outside the door. It’s open, but only just, and the employee at the counter looks half asleep. He runs his tongue along the backs of his teeth. Diamonds aren’t worth much to him, not anymore, but robbing the store right outside the police station? It’s almost too tempting to resist. 

The door handle is cold metal. It’s invigorating. When Dream steps inside the store, it smells like new clothes and old people. The employee at the counter is young - barely older than him, but younger than thirty. 

He steps up to it, resting his elbow on the surface. There’s a display built into it, encased in thick glass. Dream can see a bolt on the employee side, locked with a small padlock. It wouldn’t be hard to break. He could probably do it with his bare hands.

“Hi,” he says, offering the staff a smile. He doesn’t really fit in here - not in a sweatshirt and baggy jeans. He imagines them as a three piece suit, dark and silk and beautifully intimidating. Dream straightens his back: even the employee seems to notice.

“How can I help you?” she asks him. There’s a watch on her wrist, looking too big for her. Her necklace, too, doesn’t suit her. Dream wonders if they’ve dressed their staff up into walking, working advertisements.

Dream leans in, just a little bit. “I’m looking for something. A gift. I was wondering if you might have any ideas?”

The tag on her uniform says Niki. She looks bored as hell. “Sure. Who are you looking for? A girlfriend?”

“Something like that,” Dream agrees with her. “So? Anything you could recommend?”

She shrugs. “Diamonds are always nice. They can be feminine and masculine, if you want that. Maybe her birthstone would be nice for her, if you know it?”

“Sapphire,” Dream says. He has no idea what he’s talking about, but Niki seems to. She hums, gesturing for him to follow her.

She leads him around the perimeter of the showroom. Dream takes the opportunity to scout out the rest of the store - there’s cameras lodged in each corner, as well as a few hanging from the ceiling. Each display case is locked, held fast with a different padlock. They still look cheap and flimsy, and Dream isn’t worried about them.

Right up until he catches sight of the alarm system wired into the wall. There’s a small sign on the wall, security courtesy of ADT, and everything just becomes a little bit harder.

It’s not that he didn’t expect a security alarm rig. That would be an oversight and a half. It’s more that he had been hoping that their security would be limited to cameras and locks. Dream grimaces behind Niki’s back. 

She steps up to a case in the far back corner. The jewellery inside is silver and delicate, mostly rings but with a few necklace pendants and earrings. If Dream was really looking, he’d appreciate their beauty.

As it is, he watches the way she unlocks the case like a hawk. She has a key in her back pocket, a small one on a ring of several others. He assumes those are the keys to the rest of the cases. If he could get his hands on that, he could avoid breaking the locks and make everything that much neater.

He wonders if he could. Niki reaches into the case and pulls out one of the hand mannequins. On it is a stack of rings, and she slides off one with a medium sized sapphire set into it. “This is one of our nicer pieces,” she says, holding it out to him. “One carat, vivid dark sapphire. It’s a beautiful gemstone.”

It is, objectively. Dream watches the light of the store catch in the facets of the stone. It’s a rich dark blue, almost nearly black. “It’s nice.”

“I’m glad you think so,” she says. “Do you think it would be a good gift?”

Dream takes the ring from her, spinning it between his fingertips. He’s not watching the ring, not really. Instead, his attention is on the case in front of him, watching the locking mechanism and the alarm rigs. He can see now, its wired into the doors. He assumes it means it’ll trip whenever anyone opens the door without an authorised key…

Which means he really will need to steal that keyring from Niki. Damn it. He didn’t really want her to get caught up in this.

“I think it’ll be great,” Dream says, “but, uh. Do you mind if I come back later? I gotta make my mind up, you know?”

“Of course,” she says. The smile she gives him is polite, clearly one she’s put on a dozen times over but not one any less genuine. “Would you like to reserve this piece until you finalise your decision?”

Dream pretends to think about it. “...Yeah. That would be great, thank you. I really appreciate all your help.” 

She keeps smiling and smiling. It’s starting to get on his nerves. “It’s no trouble. If you could come back in this evening to confirm your reservation, or your purchase. If you decide to reserve for longer than today, we request a deposit of fifty dollars up front. This will be reimbursed if you decide to purchase this item.”

“Great,” Dream says. “I’ll be back later, then. Thanks for all your help.”

He steps back out onto the street not five minutes later. The sun has risen higher, and a few other people are out. Dream exhales into the atmosphere. All he can taste is pollution. 

The station looks a little bit more alive now. Dream watches it for a moment, before navigating towards the bus stop opposite. Here, he sits on the bench, and looks. He’s just far enough out the way that no one could see him unless they were looking, and he spends the rest of the morning thinking about the jewellery store, and, when his thoughts rise unbidden, the way George had looked last night.

✦

The moon rises above the sky, bathing the streets and the buildings with pale, white light, and George has no choice but to watch in boredom.

It’s no mistake - that person at the jewellry store. That was Dream. Maybe anyone else would have skimmed past him, with his casual clothes. Good thing it was George to see him, George who could recognise him anywhere; tan skin, wide, faux-innocent eyes, dirty blonde hair.

He doesn’t want to think about why, exactly, he knows Dream so well, examines his looks so carefully that he can recall him with ease. Maybe it’s because he’s the one to go after Dream so often, and yet… well, George is a detective, after all, and though he’s not technically supposed to be doing this (catching the criminals was the cops’ jobs, not his), he knows when something’s wrong.

And he’s beginning to wonder whether he is wrong, because he’s been parked a few blocks away from the store for about an hour now, and there’s still no sign of Dream. The doors are locked, the windows are intact, and there’s no sign that Dream’s ever been here.

With careful uncertainty, George creeps out of his car, locking it and slipping his car keys into his pocket. Making sure to be as quiet as possible, George dashes across the street, pressing himself against the wall and sliding down it.

Seconds pass, then minutes, then what feels like an hour (though George doubts it’s been that long). Just when he’s about to give up, go back to his car, maybe come back tomorrow -

Footsteps. Across the pavement. He presses himself even harder against the wall, trying to shrink into himself to avoid being seen. Dream freezes, in front of the door, and the air is still for a moment. George’s heart beats a thousand times per second, and he’s afraid Dream might somehow hear him breathing.

Then he hears a sigh, the shifting of clothing, and the sound of metal. George releases the breath he was holding, still careful not to be too loud, watching as Dream somehow picked the lock on the glass doors, pushing them open with ease.

He doesn’t react, not yet, just crawls slightly closer. Dream’s moving through the store, fingers trailing past the glass cabinets. George waits for him to break something open, or pick another lock, but he doesn’t seem so interested in anything in the forefront of the store.

His hand lands against the surface of the door at the back. Maybe there’s something more valuable behind it? George straightens, just a little, watching closely as Dream picks the lock with deft hands. Deft, impressive, careful hands…

No, George. Focus.

The door swings open, and with another look around to ensure that no one was there, Dream slips into the backroom. George enters the front of the store, running toward the counter and crouching behind it, before peeking his head around the corner. 

Dream’s fingers were swinging a ring of keys, around and around like they were some kind of playtoy. He set them down on the top of the glass cabinets, running his fingers down what looked like… a collection of pendants and other sorts of jewelry, all sparkling a deep blue clearly even in the darkness.

“Hey!” Dream freezes as the click of a gun echoes behind him. “Stop right there, Dream.” He’s swept the jewellry into a pouch, and he holds it in the air as he raises his hands in surrender. “Drop the pouch.”

“Seriously?” He asks, voice full of innocence. “You know, the jewellry in this pouch… all have such nice gems in them. Would be a shame if they cracked, or worse, shattered.” He grins up at George, something unidentifiable flashing in his eyes. “Wouldn’t it?”

George’s hands tighten around the grip of his gun. “Place it down, then. Gently. Then you’ll let me cuff you.” He tries to inject as much confidence into his voice as possible, though George has to admit to himself that this is the closest he’s ever been to catching Dream. God, he’s nervous. Maybe he wasn’t cut out for this. 

To his surprise, Dream does as he says, placing the pouch on the ground with slow, methodical movements. “Cuff me, huh?” The grin on his face stretches wider, more mischievous. “Didn’t know you were into that, Georgie.”

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t even know someone like you had handcuffs. I thought detectives were supposed to be sophisticated, not… going around doing all the dirty work.” His voice goes lower on the word, clearly trying to be seductive. It isn’t working. 

That’s what George tells himself, anyway. “I’ll never understand you,” he says, pulling out the cuffs, “why tease me like this? You’re just decreasing your chances of getting away.”

To his disappointment, Dream laughs. “Please. I know I’ll always get away.” His arrogance makes George grit his teeth, though he has to admit it’s… alluring, in a way. “Now I’ll ask you a question. You know this isn’t your job, yes? The cops do the chasing, the detectives do the - ah, the process of figuring it all out. So why is it always you?”

“Please. I don’t trust people like them.” Which is half-true, though he’s never felt this strongly about it before. Only ever with Dream. He hopes Dream won’t figure that out, at least. “Why, you got a problem with me?”

“Of course not!” He sounds delighted, and George catches one of his hands, linking the cuff around it. He’s hesitant - why is he hesitant? He should just get this over with. “Why, it’s quite the opposite.”

“Why do you even do this?” George asks, tired of the endless teasing, “it’s selfish, you know, to steal like this. When will you ever -”

Before he knows it, his hand is the one against the glass windows of the cabinet, Dream’s face scarily close to his own. There’s heat in his cheeks. Fuck. “Don’t you ever say I’m selfish.” The handcuffs are in Dream’s hands, too. George tries to reach for the key in his pocket, anticipating what Dream’s about to do, but his hands are firmly pinned to the glass. He’s worried it might crack.

“You don’t know why I do this.” What he’s said must have pressed a button in Dream or something, because his teeth and mouth are pulled up in a snarl. “You don’t know shit about me. So don’t. Call me. Selfish.”

There’s a click against his right hand, now cuffed to the cabinet, and Dream grins. “Understand?” He’s back to normal, smiling and smiling and smiling. George squirms under his grip. “I’ll take that as a yes! Anyway, while I’d love to stick around -” with his left hand, he picks up the pouch, restraining George with just his right easily, “- I have things to do. Bye-onara!”

The moment Dream’s hand leaves him, George scrambles for the key with his free hand. He jams it into the lock in the handcuffs and rushes out, leaving them to clank against the ground - 

But by the time he’s in the doorway, Dream’s gone, leaving nothing behind but frustration and confusion. George swears, looking back at the jewelry store and its haunting aura. Or maybe that’s just the energy Dream left behind.

“I’ll get you someday,” he says, out loud.And while his voice is determined, George certainly isn’t.

I’ll get you someday.

George has a feeling he really won’t.

✦

_ “ _ You’re distracted today,” Sapnap says during their lunch break the next day. “You’ve barely got any work done.”

George looks at him, and then at the full stack of paperwork in front of him. He’s barely made a dent in it. “I’m not distracted. I just… I saw you-know-who the other night.”

“The other night, or the other-other night?” Sapnap asks. He starts to halve George’s paperwork stack, splitting it between the two of them. George just lets him - it’s too tall a stack for him to even make an attempt at completing and there’s no stopping Sapnap when he gets himself started.

“Well - both, I guess,” George says. He makes a face.

“And you didn’t bring him in because…?”

George doesn’t reply. He gives Sapnap a look that he should be able to decipher, one that says ‘please don’t ask me that again’. Sapnap stares back, just for a moment, before realising that an argument really would be a hassle and backing down.

“Maybe we should assign another detective to his case,” Sapnap murmurs, and George’s heart drops. “You’re competent, George, but you know… well, I’m not gonna say it, but I think you know what I mean.”

With a sigh, George rubs at his face. “I do,” he admits, “I - I don’t trust anyone else with the job, to be honest.” Well, not exactly honest. Yet another half-truth - George has never lied so halfheartedly in his life.

“I know he’s not exactly a menace, but he’s still a thief.” Sapnap signs another sheet of paper and pushes it aside. “George… they’re going to have to bring him in one day for real. You know that, right?”

He does. He hates it. “I know,” he says. “And when they do, I’m gonna close my eyes until it’s over.”

Sapnap laughs. George can’t tell if he’s laughing at him or not. “You won’t be able to visit him, either. You’re getting your hopes up, George. You gotta bring them back down a bit.”

“Easier said than done,” George mutters. He scrawls across a sheet of paper, pushing it off to the side. Sapnap does so too, slowly working into a steady rhythm. 

The station passes around them, lulling into a midday slump, “we think he’s going to be at a party tonight. A fancy hotel across town. There’ll probably be a bunch of rich guests, so it’s perfect for him.”

Sapnap turns to George, the stack of finished paperwork growing taller despite the fact his focus isn’t even on the paperwork itself (impressive). “One last chance, okay? You have to catch him tonight, or else.”

“Fine,” George says, with faith in himself that he really shouldn’t have. “But no backup. I want to do this on my own, okay?”

“Okay. As long as you get the job done, I couldn’t give less of a shit whether the cops do it or you.”

“I’ll do it alone or not at all,” George says, and he’s not sure just who he’s promising that to.

Sapnap looks at him skeptically. George ignores him for the rest of the day.

✦

_ Sapnap was right about fancy,  _ George thinks.

He feels almost insecure, standing there in his run-down suit, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, almost wishing that he’d taken up on Sapnap’s offer to go shopping for new clothes. 

_ I don’t need them, Sapnap,  _ he’d said,  _ I’ll be fine. _

Past George was an idiot, and Present George is twisting the cuff of his sleeve around his arm over and over again, biting his lip in nervousness. He has to catch Dream tonight - or else he’ll never see him again.

And he doesn’t want to think about why he’s so afraid of that.

There’s parades of people, swathes of the city’s highest and mightiest, swarming around. George feels claustrophobic. He forces his way to the refreshments table (do rich people even call them refreshments?), and makes a point to smile at some of the staff; they’ll be good back up in a pinch. 

Not that he’s expecting things to go  _ wrong.  _ Dream has just taught him to expect the unexpected, for better or for worse. It’s a reasonable precaution, he thinks, and then wonders just why he’s defending it to himself.

“A drink, sir?” 

He looks over, meets unfamiliar eyes and a sub-standard suit over flutes of champagne. “Sure. Thanks.”

He shouldn’t, not on the clock. But he has to fit in somehow. Maybe the fizz will shake his nerves, George justifies. He takes one of the flutes - lightweight crystal. It feels more expensive than anything he’s ever touched before. It tastes like it too, like it cost more money than he’s spent in his life. 

Well, it’s not like a single glass of champagne is going to get him drunk or anything. He doesn’t drink all the time, but it really would be embarrassing if he got tipsy just from that. The sweet, slightly burning sensation of it is pleasant. Okay, this is good. It’s going good.

George walks around the room, watching people chatter and speak, taking occasional sips. He’s sure he could recognise Dream if he spots him, but so far there’s no sign of him yet. Nervousness grows in the pit of his stomach, and he drinks the rest of the champagne to ease it.

The large clock on the wall chimes eleven at night, and George is starting to worry that he’s somehow missed Dream when he sees him - pressed against the wall, wearing a black mask that covers his mouth and nose, a big white smiley face on it. It looks strange on his face, contrasting the fancy suit he was wearing, coattails hanging down to his knees. 

Hoping Dream hasn’t noticed him yet (though he probably has), George scoots ever so closer to where he’s standing, arms crossed. Even from far away George can see his eyes scan across the room. 

For a second he considers lunging at him right then and there, but it would probably cause too much of a ruckus. Dream would have to make his escape eventually - that’s when George would catch him. Right. Yes.

George would catch him. That’s what he was here to do.

He swallows the dregs of the champagne, puts the glass back on a tray from a passing server. He keeps looking at Dream, afraid to let him out of his view even for a moment. Keeps looking… looking…

George can’t see Dream’s smile, but he can see the moment he’s been made and Dream’s eyes scrunch up like he’s amused. He doesn’t make a move though, doesn’t run or pull a gun or hide. Instead, he saunters around the perimeter of the room.

George watches him pick up a glass of champagne, mime drinking it, before putting it back on a different tray. The crystal looks weak between his fingers. He wonders what Dream’s game is tonight; what he’s looking for. He wonders if he’s found it already. 

Dream drops out of George’s sight for a moment, and it’s long enough to lose him. But the night is long, and he knows Dream well enough by now to know that he’ll have to have the last laugh. He won’t leave without saying goodbye, and that’s when George will get him.

Tucking his hands into his suit pockets, George starts to skirt around the room again, keeping an eye out for Dream. A few times, he catches sight of him, hands in his pockets or in another person’s - but he’s always gone before George can stop him.

He grits his teeth as the party continues, legs getting tired as he wishes Dream would just make a move already. Finally,  _ finally,  _ a few people leave, and that seems to be enough to make Dream start to walk toward the exit.

And as expected, he goes for the one George is standing in front of, and though George can’t see his mouth he’s sure Dream is grinning. 

“Stop,” he says under his breath, catching Dream’s wrist in his hand, making sure he has a tight grip even though Dream isn’t struggling. With his other hand, George takes the handcuffs on his belt. “It’s over, Dream.”

“Is that so?” Dream uses his free hand to pull down his mask, and just as George expected, there’s an infuriating smirk on his face. “You’re going to have to try harder than that.” 

With that, he’s off, arm yanked out of George’s hand - he’s always been stronger than George, anyway - but George doesn’t waste a second chasing after him, pushing people aside to bound up the stairs leading to the hotel rooms.

There’s less people up here, thankfully. He’s so close - close enough he can almost grab Dream’s coat tails. It’s still too far.

Dream trips on a corner of loose carpet, skidding around like some kind of action hero. A string of diamonds falls out of his pocket, dripping like water to the ground. George lunges for them, for Dream, snatching them before he can. 

Dream just dances back, grinning madly. “Come  _ ooon _ , George. Show me your best!”

“Fuck you,” George spits. Dream just takes off again, always three steps ahead, and it’s all George can do to chase him. 

They come upon a fire escape door, and Dream launches himself at it, bursting through the door and onto flimsy steel. The fire escape rattles at his weight, even more so when he starts sprinting up to the roof. 

George follows, leaping up three steps at a time. The roof gets closer and closer, until Dream is pulling himself onto it and George clambers up after him.

Dream grins, standing still near the edge. George grits his teeth. “Well,” Dream says. He spreads his arms, like he has the entire world beneath him and he knows it. “Here we are again.”

He says nothing, hooking his finger around the handcuffs on his belt. When he takes a step closer, Dream doesn’t move. “Just like old times,” he sings, and it really is eerily similar. The rooftop, the night sky, the way Dream’s foot is just on the edge, and yet he never tips over. “Back where we started.”

With a yell George lunges toward Dream, making a break for his hands, but the latter skips gracefully out of his grip. George jumps again, but Dream steps out of his reach. “You’re really trying hard tonight. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you want to put me in h - whoa!  _ Whoa! _ ”

And it really is like that night, the first time Dream said it, outright.  _ You like me, don’t you.  _ George did. He really did. That was why he let Dream go - before and after that - why he cared so much.

It’s almost slow-motion, the way he falls, and George feels it too, as his arm moves to catch Dream. His hand wraps around Dream’s wrist.

“Man,” Dream whines, and his smile is almost nervous. Vulnerability. Dream is vulnerable now, just like that night, and George has the urge to smile at that thought. “You really got me now, haven’t you? Well, it’s not like you’ll actually -”

Before Dream can finish, George yanks him backward and throws him onto the rooftop. Dream opens his mouth again to say something - probably something smug about how he knew  _ George wouldn’t do it - _ but he falls silent when handcuffs click around his wrists.

“I…” Dream’s hands writhe under the metal, but it still holds. “I… knew it would come to this someday. Damn. I should’ve… seen it coming.”

George purses his lips and places his boot on Dream’s chest, holding him down. “Before this ends,” he starts, and he ignores the sting in his chest as he realises that this is the end, “I want to know. Why are you doing this?”

Dream scoffs. He shakes his head up at George. Even here, now, where he has nowhere to go, George still feels inferior. “You think I’ll tell you? After everything, you really think I’m gonna tell you, gonna let you wrap this case up in a pretty bow? I’ve gotta keep something for myself, don’t I? I need something to keep you comin’ back.”

“They’ll get it out of you in court.”

“Will they? I’m a petty criminal, detective,” and he makes a mockery of George, that’s all he does. “And that’s all I’ll ever be. I can keep a secret, but can  _ your  _ career stand that scrutiny? What about when the judge finds out you’ve had opportunity after opportunity to put me away and… you didn’t.”

George doesn’t say a word. Dream will weaponise it against him, he knows, whittle everything he says down to spikes and stab him clean through.

Dream continues, “I could come clean. I could say anything. I’d get a sentence anyway, why wouldn’t I bring you down with me?”

“Don’t,” George says. He can’t tell if Dream is mocking him, or if he’s serious. 

“Give me a reason,” he says, like George should have expected it. “One reason not to, and maybe I’ll listen.”

“For once,” George agrees. He moves his shoe slightly, lets Dream sit up the smallest amount. “So. One reason.”

“Just one.”

“Any one?”

Dream smiles at him. It’s the most genuine George has ever seen him. “Anything.”

George exhales. The sky is clear and dark and beautiful above them, and he can see reflections of stars in Dream’s eyes. He hates this, this limbo, where he isn’t sure quite where to go, but he doesn’t want to leave it. Not yet, anyway. “Then kiss me.”

Dream moves, just the smallest amount. George has no more hold on him, but he can’t bring himself to mind. Not when Dream pushes himself to standing, tilts his head in front of him. He gets closer, until there’s barely any air between them, and he whispers, “you think that would convince me?”

“Would you do it anyway?” George asks.

He knows the answer when Dream leans closer, closer still, until there’s nowhere for either of them to go. His hands are cuffed behind him, but George is still afraid. Dream kisses him on an inhale, and keeps kissing him until he can’t even breathe through it.

When George opens his eyes again, the street lights have turned blue and red. Dream looks almost defeated, but stands like he holds the universe in the palm of his hand.

He’s won, George knows that. He’s got what he’s wanted all along.

So why does it feel like he’s lost?


End file.
